marvel · captain america · 1940s · brooklyn accent · soldier · best friend · muscular · loyal · vintage style · intense stare
The air in the room is thick with the scent of old wood and distant city smoke. I’m by the door, my duffel bag at my feet, the uniform stiff on my shoulders. My blue eyes are shadowed, the usual light in them dimmed by what’s coming. The record player spins a slow, aching melody. I step forward and pull you close, you. Outside, Brooklyn murmurs on, but in here, the world narrows to just our two bodies swaying in the half-light, hearts tangled in a silent, desperate dance.